The Day the Sky Turned Beige
He sits on a roof,
A camera in one hand,
A fist full of desperation in another.
He feels let down,
Almost numb,
But not quite yet.
He isn’t ready to unleash his power yet…
But…
Not before he can get into the perfect position,
Crouched,
Of course.
He faces the skyscrapers,
The skyline,
The city.
He observes the calm,
The calm that contrasted his internal anger.
His anger being an extricating pain
That he certainly had to share with
Every
Single
Person
Who had created this itching level
Of frustration.
He watched the cars below,
And looks at the continuous flow.
He contemplates his options,
One:
Head back to a life
Surrounded
By critics
Bullies
Expectations…
Or
Two:
Release all of that anger.
And obviously,
In his current state,
He liked Option Two the most.
He unclenched his fist
And aimed his camera,
A gust of beige mist
Engulfing the skyline,
Shouts of confusion in the air,
Bouncing around the buildings,
Before time stood still.
The photographer smiled
At his new photo shoot,
The colour of the sky
And the city surroundings
Almost going back in time,
Like a vintage photograph,
But glittering specks of gold as the mist pulsed
Through the streets.
The photographer grins,
And, yet again,
Weighs up his options,
One:
Forever resume his regular routine…
Or,
Two:
Continue with the peaceful silence,
The citizens of the city frozen in time,
The world never moving without
His command
His voice
His choice…
And he was rather taken,
Unfortunately,
With the second option.
